


Moment to Yourself

by WolvZephyr



Category: Library of Ruina (Video Game), Lobotomy Corporation (Video Game)
Genre: F/F, Napping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-24
Updated: 2020-11-24
Packaged: 2021-03-09 21:14:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,146
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27702608
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WolvZephyr/pseuds/WolvZephyr
Summary: "Everyone in this Library but your lapdog either abhors or pities you. It's rather obvious.""And you?" She responds, already knowing what she'll hear in return."Hmm. What do you think?" Binah tilts her head, never willing to give a straight answer.Angela visits the Floor of Philosophy.
Relationships: Angela/Binah (Lobotomy Corporation)
Comments: 5
Kudos: 34





	Moment to Yourself

**Author's Note:**

> I started writing this as soon as Library of Ruina came out (which is why there's a reference to "blue spores" on Netzach's floor--I decided to keep it, even though they removed The Little Prince. For context, Netzach's floor used to have a lot of issues with Abnormality effects sticking around). Then when they added Binah to the game I went back and finished it all.

Angela sighs as she climbs flights of stairs.

Of course, as the director of the Library, she could simply teleport to wherever she wished, but there's a certain novelty to walking personally. She ought to get used to it for when she (surely, inevitably) escapes, too. The Library itself has only been in operation a short while, although the time passing outdoors may be different. Roland is busy making a book delivery to Tiphereth, according to her passive surveillance; Nothing evades her notice in this place, of course. Tiphereth sounds upset, but that is nothing new. Roland is an awfully nosy person.

There really are quite a lot of stairs. Angela pauses to look out over the vast unkempt greenery of the Floor of Art. The reception stage is a great distance away, but it is still easy to see how its surface is still covered in blue spores and other abnormality residue. The Library can clean itself to an extent, but this floor in particular seems to have a little trouble sometimes—No doubt due to the haphazard "organization" style of its patron librarian. 

Angela shakes her head, then continues climbing. At least Netzach is receiving guests properly.

Natural Sciences uses a winding spiral staircase, with wide stone steps. At this distance she can almost literally hear Tiphereth shouting expletives at Roland and trying to pull out his hair. It's no topic of her concern.

The difference between Language and Social Sciences is literally fire and water. Flames and molten magma lick at the edges of Angela's coat and acrid cigarette smoke stings her nose as she steps up metal scaffolding, her heels clunking against the soot-stained steel. Crossing the boundary between floors, it abruptly transitions into a dark wood. Despite the appearance of swirling water on this floor, one can move through it as easily as air. 

At the top of the steps in Social Sciences, Angela pauses again. The next floor is her intended destination, but she feels hesitant to cross. She doesn't have a reason to be here. Its librarian just woke up, yes—But Angela has never greeted a new librarian except Malkuth, who was the first to be restored. There is no clean excuse to discuss. She thought she might think of something suitably clever while walking here, but her mind can't come up with anything but the sheer embarrassing truth that she wants to talk to her. She wants to learn more about her, not because it's useful for finding the one true book but for simple companionship. It must be laughable. Childish.

Angela grits her teeth momentarily, then pushes an unrefined dark oak door open.

* * *

When Angela enters the Floor of Philosophy, the person she wants to see is already waiting for her. 

The room is lit with hanging stars, and a dark river lazily flows through the center of the room. Unsteady shelves of books rest across the walls, as if they were crushed against them. Binah sits in a chair with her hands folded and one ankle resting over her other knee. She sees Angela and her eyes turn thin in a narrow smile. Between the two of them is a small table with a pot of black tea. She woke up just a couple of minutes ago, and it shows: Her eyelids are lower than usual, her head is hung low, and when she blinks, it takes some time before her eyes open again. 

Apparently her sleepiness doesn't affect her slyness, and her gaze is unwavering. "Miss Director," Binah says, leaning back in her chair. She brings her hands together in her lap, idly brushing her rings with her thumb. "To what do I owe this visit?"

Angela doesn't have an answer for her, so she wordlessly takes a seat across from her. Binah's smile only grows, in that sinister way that struck fear greater than death into employees. She had rarely checked on anything concerning the Atziluth layer, and the fact most of the loops never got that far was a major contributor. But even though she was consistently sadistic and bereft of remorse, she felt a kindred spirit in Binah, a solidarity in being unwillingly subjected to hell beyond human imagining. With her hand over a shutoff switch, she watched the days she would spend sitting by Carmen's pool and the days she would mutter incessantly to the graves of Extraction. She flipped that switch only a tiny handful of times, when the Manager would choose to reset himself rather than overcome her trial. 

"I thought you might visit sooner rather than later." Binah reaches over and pours Angela a cup of black tea. She takes it.

"Why is that?" Angela asks. She cannot taste it, but she imagines it must be decent if Binah will drink it.

"Everyone in this Library but your lapdog either abhors or pities you. It's rather obvious."

"And you?" She responds, already knowing what she'll hear in return.

"Hmm. What do you think?" Binah tilts her head, never willing to give a straight answer. Perhaps she forgets that her body is human again, because Angela can detect a twinge of pain in her tendons through the Library. It doesn't show on her face.

"You promised to stand by my side. It's difficult to interpret that as hatred." Angela says, plainly. "And honestly, I don't know if you're truly capable of pity."

"You are right on both counts, if a little rude about it." Binah laughs. "You were certainly offering a good deal. Death after the torment of drawing water every day, or a rebirth joined with freedom, and the company of what I once considered my best friends."

"You don't seem the type to have friends."

"Another cutting remark, but you are right again. Just tea—and silence." Binah taps her hand against her cup. A ring clicks against the porcelain.

"If it helps," Angela says, "I consider you an ally."

"How kind of you," Binah responds.

"Though I deeply despise your roundaboutness." 

"Then for your sake I won't be," Binah says, then yawns. She stretches out like a cat. "What are you looking for, coming here? A nap? Tea you can't enjoy?"

Caught red-handed, she answers: "I don't know."

"Now who's the one being roundabout?" Binah stares with a smug expression, like she's looking at a caught mouse in her hands. "I myself would enjoy some sleep. As much as I would love to contribute to building your dear Library, I'm afraid I don't feel like swinging those little swords around quite yet. Would you care to join me?"

Angela already expected her to refuse fighting. As much power as a Star of the City can amass, the best pages currently available are still paltry compared to an Arbiter. Not to mention Binah has always seemed to be someone who prefers to watch and observe. Angela asks, "Join you in what?" 

"A nap. I've fashioned a nice enough seat here for one." Binah gestures to the side. In a corner of the room, dimly lit by diffused light and hidden in a compartment next to a bookshelf, is a gnarled wood lounging chair. Black velvet cushioning sits on top. It looks like a mixture of the Library's design and a book reconstruction. "You grow tired now, yes?"

"I do, but the Library's continuous reconstruction gets rid of it." Binah sets her tea aside, strides over, and lies down on her side. Her body moves like liquid, with smooth fluid motions. She faces Angela, leaning on her elbow. "It looks too small for two," Angela comments.

"I promise it works. Care to try?"

"...Hmm. Well, why not." She sits on the edge of the seat and then lies down sideways, trying not to get into Binah's space out of respect. It's a small space, but considering how narrow Angela's frame is, it does indeed "work". The cushions are soft enough, but it's hardly luxurious trying not to tumble off the edge. She turns towards Binah, whose eyes are already closed.

"Good night." Binah takes her coat and drapes it over the both of them. It has some residual warmth that feels... comfortable. 

In no time at all her breaths even out. 

Angela shuts her eyes.

She might call it "sleep", but there's a fundamental difference between her sleep and a human's, even with all the Library's construction. In fact, being the director further complicates things; Even with her eyes closed she can easily tell what is happening to every person inside whenever she wishes. She is always aware of her surroundings and she doesn't experience dreams. In terms of pure functionality, the only purpose of sleep is to save on memory space while she recharges energy, and the motor shutoff is just a side effect. She's completely conscious, no matter what. Ayin intentionally designed her with this curse.

So it doesn't surprise her, per se, when Binah slings an arm around Angela's shoulders after a few minutes pass. Humans move around when they sleep all the time. What does shock her is that Binah's other arm slides underneath—and pulls her into an embrace. Angela's face nestles in the crook of her neck, nose buried in her long hair. 

Her brain moves quickly. No matter how tired you are, there's no way Binah is completely unconscious within this measly time frame, right? It must be unrealistic. She must be semi-conscious at least, if not fully conscious and trying to play a prank. Trying to get a rise out of her, or... fluster her, maybe. She's a bit of a mischievous type, and it wouldn't be strange if she had an iron grip on every one of her reactions.

Binah makes a low noise in the back of her throat, like a purr. She hugs Angela closer, pressing up against her. She feels coursing blood heat her face. Undeniably she is flustered. Through her own chest she can feel Binah's heartbeat. The thumps are slow and steady, undoubtedly that of a sleeping human. Unless she has multiple hearts (which Angela easily disproved when reconstructing her... but if she was still an Arbiter, she might expect otherwise) she is legitimately completely unaware of the world. Truly astonishing. She didn't think she was the type to latch onto anything, much less for something as banal as comfort during sleep. 

Perhaps it's the effect of the Library. As a dwelling it's no less a cage than Extraction, but the variety and quality of life is like night and day. Then again, in those stolen private moments that Angela had been forced to voyeur, Binah had been vulnerable. The way she stood and stared quietly at Cogito-dyed water, or recited poems to no one in particular, struck a different tune than the self-serving and distant appearance she has. Perhaps Binah already knows that Angela has seen all of those moments. Perhaps she thinks Angela has read through her book while she slept, and already knows her inside and out. (She could have, but she didn't.)

Binah's body feels soft despite its straight angles and wiry frame. The warmth spreads across Angela's skin. Being this close is kind of... embarrassing, but despite the burning sensation in her face, she feels calm. Safe, almost ironically, with their limbs tangled. Enveloped by and curled against Binah, there's an... inexplicable feeling of her thoughts and worries slipping away. Her mind's eye falls into darkness...

* * *

Angela awakens with a start. How much time has passed? She opens her eyes. The first things she is greeted by are Binah and her bared teeth.

"You were sleeping so soundly," she says.

"I was?" Angela squints. She checks her internal clock—it's been getting rather fuzzy and vaguely-defined, but it's been about two to three hours. No memory logs. She scans her surroundings and finds she's at a slightly higher elevation for some reason.

"It was very cute." Binah smiles. Angela realizes the reason for that elevation is that she's lying on top of her, not beside her. Her head was resting on the center of Binah's chest before she lifted it to look around. Binah's hands are clasped together, resting against the small of Angela's back. "How did you like your first nap?"

She can feel the vibrations of Binah's voice intimately. "It's strange to be missing data," Angela says honestly, letting her head fall. The process of becoming human is a series of strange firsts and strange sensations. She's gotten used to the mysterious feeling deep in her chest, and she doesn't really want to let go of it. The arms wrapped around her are... nice. She should be embarrassed, but the truth is that it's just comfortable here, blanketed by her coat. Her own arms are hooked underneath, resting to either side of Binah's torso. 

"Hmm." Binah closes her eyes. They spend a long moment in silence. 

**Author's Note:**

> I thought about writing a bit more, but I think this is about as good as it'll get (LOL) so I'll post it as is. Angebinah real!  
> If you leave a comment I'll definitely read it, but I'm really bad at remembering to reply...


End file.
